


Christmas Eve, 1997 - Remus and Dora

by CreativeWords



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeWords/pseuds/CreativeWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Eve, their first Christmas together. And it's a full moon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Eve, 1997 - Remus and Dora

It wasn’t Dora’s fault.

  
He’d lost count of the number of times he’d told her in the last few hours. He ought to have kept the potion in the cupboard, ought not to have been measuring his dosage so long before it was needed, ought to have placed the draught back from the edge of the counter. If there was blame to be had, he would accept it fully and completely.

And she had been so happy. Her mother would arrive in the village just afternoon noon and they were to have a lovely Christmas Eve dinner before sundown. There had been some attempts to find Ted and arrange safe passage for him, but at last report from the Order, it was proving a challenge. Dora had taken this in stride, saying merely that if the Order couldn’t find him, she needn’t worry about Snatchers. She had been preparing for the last week, a gift after the morning sickness that had plagued for her so long. Dora did nothing by halves, and the first months of pregnancy had been as spectacularly dreadful as the last few days had been radiantly happy. She’d quite fully undone his attempts at decoration and set the walls asparkle with more tinsel and holly than he thought the house could reasonably hold. She’d been in the kitchen more than Remus would have liked for the last two days, merrily icing cookies that had turned more charcoal than brown and basting a turkey that must have been a fearful sight when it could walk about on its own power. As it was, it had done its fair share of dancing about the kitchen – Remus levitating it to allow Dora easier access to the underneath for spice rubbing, Dora sending it hither and thither to make room for pans as she pulled them from the oven. They were memories to cherish, moments that allowed them pretend, however briefly, that they were a couple like millions around them, preparing for the holidays, anticipating a child. Normalcy had become a treasure.

So when she’d come bursting into the kitchen, eyes alight, and the vial dropped from his hand, it felt as if the world had fractured. They both stood, wands half-drawn, watching the potion seep through the crack in the lino, scarcely daring to breathe.

“I felt the baby move,” she said in a very small voice.

Remus leapt over the puddle to press his hand against her belly, but the flutters had ceased. The only movement he could feel was the slightest of tremors in Dora’s shoulders. He enfolded her in his arms.

“It’ll be fine,” he said firmly, letting his chin rest on her head. “Nothing we haven’t weathered before.”

It felt very different, though, pressing a kiss to her forehead and walking out into the blue twilight to Disapparate. Andromeda would be arriving soon, but as Remus had no hope of being merely an overly large lap dog once the sun went down, he found it easier to avoid his mother-in-law entirely. Whatever the pleasant overtures that had been extended, he was well aware that it was no mother’s dream to have a werewolf as a son-in-law and father to her grandchild. As it was, the best gift he could hope to give her was a night of relative safety. This was better, safer, he reminded himself as he turned to see Dora silhouetted by the warm light in the doorway, her chin held unnaturally high. He gave a little wave, mouthed _I love you,_ then closed his eyes and concentrated on somewhere he could keep others safe from him.

**_∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞_ **

The jerk to his gut wasn’t entirely magical in origin when he squeezed his way into being moments later, half-falling into a pine tree, but he forced his mind to the present. Clearing his thoughts of loved ones seemed to make his other self less anxious for blood. At least, that what he told both of them on months when the potion came too dear for the Sickles in their wallets. Much easier to face than the alternatives.

Though the clouds hid both sun and moon, there was no doubt that the winter evening held but scant safe minutes. He wasn’t surprised to find himself on a hillside just outside Hogsmeade. The Shrieking Shack was no longer available to him, but these woods had been a haven to him three lifetimes ago. Tonight of all nights, it felt perversely right to return here.

Heavy clouds seemed to flirt with the tops of the trees, stirring them to restless conversation. The lights from the village and the castle were bound between snow and cloud, throwing deep and bizarre shadows through the branches. Lupin orientated himself and headed further up the slope. There were caves on the eastern face, ones deep enough to provide shelter and reinforce his isolation. With no hints of human habitation around, his other self would be less likely to go in search of prey. Still, he couldn’t resist pausing at a break in the trees to gaze at the castle across the lake. The windows gleamed golden, framed by the stolid dark stones of towers and turrets. Deceptively silent and still from this distance, no doubt ringing with the footsteps and voices of the students who had elected to spend their holidays from home. The smile was painful, but involuntary.

Three lifetimes ago it may have been, but just the sight of the school conjured a peace within him that he had not known since that terrible night in ’81.

He located a cave facing well away from both Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, its mouth opening onto vistas of dark, empty mountains. The charms he set on the opening would not obstruct the view, but would at least discourage him from attempting to leave once the moon had fully risen. It was never guaranteed that they would hold, though. More times than he cared to recall, he’d awoken far afield from his original hideaway, unsure what had transpired betwixt the two locations. He focused on tracing the outline of the cave with his wand, enunciating the incantations with deliberate precision.

He exchanged his clothes for a loose, much-mended robe that he could slip off before the worst of the transformation, cast a warming charm to avoid frostbite while he waited, and settled himself facing into the cave. Habits ingrained over decades. He sat quite still, steadfastly banishing thoughts of bubblegum pink hair collapsing to mousy brown and emerald eyes that glistened more than usual. He focused ahead, watching the darkness well from the depth of cave and seep forward. It had its own forlorn sort of beauty.

Sirius would have hooted to hear the thought. James might have swallowed his shout of laughter, but it would have been an untold number of days before he’d Remus anything but “the bard.” Peter would have spent the rest of the time before sunset coming up with increasingly ludicrously poetic descriptions of their surroundings. The chuckle fighting its way through his chest had a razor’s edge.

How many years had it been since that Christmas? Remus cast his mind back. His sixth year, when he’d realized mid-October that his affliction fell on Christmas. He hadn’t said a word about it, had merely marked the full moons on his calendar and gone on about his days. It did no good to bemoan his fate. He ought to have known that silence on his part did not equal lack of knowledge on the part of his friends.

It was beginning. The first shooting pains through his limbs. The seizing in his throat. Remus curled into himself, clinging to the last moments of clarity. It was always now that he lost his resolve, focused on anything to dull the pain. Bubblegum pink hair blurred with shaggy black ears and antlers, memories of a long ago Christmas. One of the last times his life had seemed more light than darkness.

**_∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞_ **

_The Great Hall was a swarm of sound. Students banged trunks against table legs, shouted farewells, sent borrowed scarves and quills and all manner of items flying to their rightful owners with halloos of warning. Remus stood in the doorway, letting the corner of his trunk dig into his thigh, and took it in. A Ravenclaw couple by him was taking an inordinate amount of time to sort through a pile of books and return them to their respective owners. It seemed Duncan might finally pluck up the courage to ask her out by the time they reached the bottom of the stack. A gaggle of first years, most wearing yellow scarves, were exchanging the noisiest collection of hugs Remus had ever witnessed, full of loud promises to visit over the holidays and send owls about New Year’s parties and protestations of undying friendship of the depth of sincerity known only to 11 year-old girls about to be separated for a short time._

_He’d made his requisite farewells in the common room and found the other prefects in the halls. This scene was strictly for observation. Potter, Black and Pettigrew would be making the train ride with him back to London before their departures – Potter and Black to the countryside and Pettigrew to London proper. He felt selfish for the twinge of jealousy the prospect aroused. His home was comfortable enough, happy enough, but that was not where he would be Christmas Eve. He would be locked in the shed in the woods outside town, surrounded by layers of enchantments designed to keep him contained and beyond human contact till dawn._

_“Remus!”It was Evans, her gentle touch on his shoulder enough to make him start. He schooled his face into a smile for her sake. “Will I be seeing you at the Potters’ for New Year’s?”_

_“Most likely,” he said easily. Provided the bites and bruises had faded. Provided the aftereffects left him less wan than usual and he could comfortably enter into the festivities without hovering from a well-meaning Mother Potter. Having Sirius a fixture around the house had only increased her maternal tendencies, it seemed._

_“Well, then, a very happy Christmas to you, and I’ll look forward to seeing you there.” They exchanged a brief hug and she skipped off to greet another friend._

_Remus’ mouth relaxed to somewhere between his former scowl and a genuine smile. He liked Lily. She was good for James, if nothing else. And she was the only person of the female persuasion at the school who was aware of his condition. She’d taken it well, he thought. James had relished the telling more than Remus would have liked, but she’d marched up to him the next morning, given him a hug, and said with tear-bright eyes, “Don’t forget the prefects are meeting at 7 tonight.” And that had been that._

_The students were trooping toward the door. The train was set to leave in a quarter of an hour. Remus reached down to take hold of his trunk – but his grasping fingers met empty air. His trunk, so recently by his side, had vanished. He did a complete turn on his heel, surveying the room. No unclaimed trunks, but also no Potter, Pettigrew, or Black. He sighed, suddenly doubting Lily’s altruism in stopping to chat._

_Peeves cackled from overhead. “Lost something, Lupin? Or just training for the ballet?”_

_He ducked in time to avoid the holly berries the poltergeist was shooting through a rolled-parchment blowpipe and left the hall at a lope. It was just like the others to pull a stunt like this, and so close to time to leave. The corridor was overcrowded and near impossible to navigate with a thought for more than the area just in front of his feet. He nearly ran down two particularly small Ravenclaws and earned a profanity from a Slytherin who stepped into his path at the foot of the stairs. Peeves caught up with him as he was considering mounting the banister for a better view._

_“You oughtn’t to have run away so quick,” Peeves observed, casually sending another round of berries into the crowd before them._

_“Oh?” Lupin replied, craning his neck._

_“Your little friends left you a present, you know.”_

_His head snapped round to look at Peeves’ smirking face. The poltergeist waved his blowpipe with a flourish, and Remus recognized the parchment. The map._

_“Give it to me, Peeves.” He extended his hand with as much command as he could muster._

_In response, Peeves blew an impressive raspberry and turned a somersault using the heads of several scurrying students to complete his revolution, ending up well out of reach. Remus drew his wand._

_“Accio!”_

_The parchment slipped from Peeves’ fingers, raining holly berries across the corridor as it soared into Remus’ hand. Peeves cackled and dived into the crowd to retrieve his ammunition, leaving Remus to duck behind the gargoyle at the foot of the stairs, unfurl his prize and mutter, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”_

_It wasn’t difficult to locate his friends, what with the entire student population swarming the Great Hall and entrance. The three dots were the only ones in Gryffindor tower, doing some sort of war dance in their dormitory, by the look of things. He gave the countersign to erase the map, stuffed it in his pocket and sprinted up the stairs._

_“I hope – you’re – a-all – quite pleased – with yourselves,” he wheezed as he stumbled into the dormitory minutes later, collar soaked and lungs burning._

_The others burst into a peal of laughter that warmed him even as it irritated him. He leaned against the doorframe and gulped in air._

_“Yes, actually,” Sirius said from his position sprawled across his unmade bed. “You will be, too.”_

_“You’re carrying that trunk all the way to the train, Padfoot,” Remus rejoined. “I won’t touch it.”_

_“Fair enough.”_

_He looked around, half expecting it to be floating above his head or turned some outlandish color, but instead found it at the foot of his bed, opened and empty. His strangled exclamation drew another shout of laughter from his friends._

_“What are you playing at?”_

_“For being the bookworm, you’re being terribly thick, Moony,” James said, leaning back against his footboard and crossing his arms in a tolerable imitation of McGonagall’s lecturing stance._

_His heart still beating faster than was at all comfortable, Remus took the space of a few calming breaths to look around the room. Peter had quite collapsed in a fit of near-silent laughter. James and Sirius were both sitting in poses of intense casualness, watching him. None of them were wearing scarves, hats or coats, or looked at all concerned about heading out of the castle. Now he looked, none of their trunks were packed, either. The realization dawning seemed far-fetched, even for his friends._

_“And – the lightbulb,” Sirius said, waving his wand in a lazy flourish._

_“But – my parents – and your parents, James,” Remus spluttered vaguely, spreading his hands._

_“Will be pleased as punch to see us all for the New Year,” James said. “We cleared it with them weeks ago, your parents, too. Dumbledore says it’s a fine idea.”_

_“Well, I –“_

_“I suppose we could all just pack up and catch the train, if you’d rather spend your Christmas shut away,” Sirius offered._

_Remus shook his head almost involuntarily. James pushed off from his footboard and flicked his wand. Remus’ scarf flew off his neck almost-gently and soared to tie itself around his bed post. Peter tugged his coat off and flung it across the room. Sirius coiled himself into a sitting position, instantly serious._

_“So it’s settled. Christmas Eve will be a jolly romp through the Forbidden Forest for all of us. Now, the first order of business. How many bowtruckles can we set loose in Filch’s broom closet before he notices?”_

**_∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞_ **

He was warm. Comfortable, even. And there seemed to be something fuzzy and red covering his face.

None of these things were expected the morning after a full moon.

Remus tested his limbs slowly. He wasn’t restrained in any way, though the post-transformation aches and pains made movement unpleasant. He lifted his right hand carefully to his face to remove the red covering. It was, it turned out, a Santa Claus hat, one of the more garishly colored ones he’d ever seen.  His next realization was that he was not draped in his robe, as he’d imagined, but was wearing it, and had a heavy quilt on top of him.

“I like the hat.”

The panic was short-lived, but no less severe for its fleetness. Remus flung himself into a half-crouched position, hands scrabbling for his wand, only to have his eyes settle on Dora, who was sitting cross-legged a mere foot away, wearing a matching hat that clashed spectacularly with her hair, and a sweater that looked something akin to a yarn store explosion. She was pointing her wand at a small fire that seemed rather anxious to become a large fire.

“What are you doing here?”

She smiled and scooted closer, letting the fire alone, which it seemed to appreciate. “You think I didn’t know you’d come here? I just waited for sunrise and Apparated. Mum will be making breakfast by now, I expect.” She held out her arms to show off the sweater. “Do you like it? I’ve been working on it in secret for weeks and weeks. Molly taught me to knit last year, you know. There’s one for you, too.”

He ran his fingers down her sleeve, still searching for words. The yarn was soft but snarled, the stitches as inconsistent in size and tension as the colors were garish. The shopgirl must have unloaded every skein that no one particularly cared to purchase – a butter yellow, a purple that was unsure it if was trying to be royal or not, a lime green Cornelius Fudge would have turned down, and a section that seemed to literally variegate between candy cane red and electric blue with each blink of his eyes.

Dora caught his hand and twined her fingers through his. “I waited till after sunrise, I swear, Remus.”

He didn’t meet her eyes. “I – You shouldn’t be here.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him with such ferocity he wished he could call the words back. “Remus John Lupin, I have had precisely enough of this. We are married, are we not?

“Yes, but –“

“And when we got married we said some rubbish about having and holding and through richer or poorer, sickness and health, correct?”

“Yes, but this isn’t a sickne –“

“Do you expect your transformations to stop?”

“No.”

“Do you expect to enjoy waking up after them alone and cold and in pain?”

“Well –“

“Do you expect me to sit by and let that happen to the man I love?”

An involuntary, sheepish smile crossed his lips. “No.”

“Good.” She nodded as if it was quite settled and turned behind her to her bag.

The sweater she tossed caught him full in the face, which he rather thought was on purpose, though he couldn’t be sure. He pawed it off his head and was searching for the hem when she gasped and grabbed his hand again.

He nearly jerked away to reach for his wand, every sense alive to danger. But she clung harder and pressed his fingers to her belly. It took a moment for him to register the tiny flutters, faint, but recognizable. He met Dora’s eyes. She was grinning.

“See, your child agrees with me. Now –“

He interrupted her with a kiss. She responded with her customary fervor, which never failed to surprise him. Their lips separated, but Dora leaned her forehead against his, eyes glimmering with what might have been tears.

“Merry Christmas, you idiot.”

“Merry Christmas, Nymphadora.”


End file.
